He's A Little Older But Still Old Elvis
by Stuart Wilk
Milwaukee Sentinel
June 15, 1972

Ah, Elvis. After all these years what a sight you were Wednesday night.

Strutting around in your jeweled white cape like a monarch butterfly just out of the cocoon...

Still grinding those legendary hips like a zopped up jalopy in high gear...

Tossing gold neckerchiefs at the frenzied crowd and then flashing a one-quarter smile as an army of women, 18 to 35, made lunges for them...

Yes, Elvis. After all these years you still know how to do it to them.

And they must have done a few things to you, too.

Those legendary locks have been coiffed into a mod haircut (with bangs no less), but that didn't fool us. The old Elvis - with sideburns, ducktail and grease - was just a slim layer beneath.

And that introduction! A neo-Kubrickian blast of "Also Sprach Zarathustra" came blaring at the audience as if an entire galaxy would flash into view.

Not that your presence came as an anticlimax. The flashbulbs went off like strobe lights; screeches filled the air like sirens. It was quite an entrance.

Just how large the Arena crowd was seemed to be a closely guarded secret, however, between you and your promoters. Why the mystery? At most there were 300 empty seats, and those were behind the stage.

Well, superstars, and I suppose they're entitled to a quirk or two.

You hardly plucked a note on the guitar Wednesday night, but the crowd didn't seem to mind. After all, with a guitar strapped to you they never would have seen that middle age paunch peeking out from your slit-to-the-waist shirt.

And you sang them all for the cheering throng. "I'm All Shook Up." "Heartbreak Hotel," "Don't Be Cruel"

In fact, all you had to sing was "You Ain't Nothing But a..." and that teenage, middle age, old age crowd wouldn't give you a chance to finish.

The show had some outrageous overtones, if you cared to notice them. It was produced like a Las Vegas night club act - opulent and garish and smacking of show biz in its best and worst connotations.

And the stage was completely flanked by security guards who gave a hefty shove to anyone who got too close.

Somehow, we couldn't get over the feeling that what you really amount to is a star studded, million dollar anachronism.

But who cares? Not the thousands who flocked to the Arena Wednesday, and probably not the thousands who will reflock on Thursday.

You're still Elvis, and that's what they're paying you for. And that - nothing more, nothing less - is what you deliver.

Courtesy of Francesc Lopez